


Let me entwine our fingers

by Cezerre



Category: The Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Canon Era, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, First Time, Gay Sex, Kissing, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Psychological Torture, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:35:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27180001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cezerre/pseuds/Cezerre
Summary: A story of a love which bloosomed between Will and Jem. Of warmth, love and sacrifice. How it could be. Of dancing in ever-burning flames, of loving until you seem build only of love, of trust and utter faith.
Relationships: Charlotte Branwell/Henry Branwell, Jem Carstairs/Will Herondale
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	Let me entwine our fingers

Will didn't know how long it was he was feeling those things. Those romantically forbidden, romanticized by all the romances he's read in secret, things. The mix of waiting, the longing, oh longing, which ached the pain so real it had to be real. The feel, the rush, the lingering, tingling sensation of warmth in his breast, where a heart was beating. It made him feel alive. Like he was a character in a book called life and it was eating him while he was still drawing and giving back cold, piercing air. The movements of his breast only made him reassure that it was indeed real. The conspicuous taste of steel he felt every time he received oxygen was leaving his spit bitter and breath a little sour. It wasn't supposed to be like that. Love was supposed to be a salvation, a key to every riddle, the thread whenever he stepped into a maze. But all the books he had read didn't prepare him for feeling so very lost. So lost, so lost, so lost. So deedless.

He wasn't used to feeling lost. Every sharp word and icy stare, every thing he had done to prove he wasn't making someone's life too short, had a solid ground. He knew what and why. It didn't make it easier or didn't leave him less numb, but he knew what to do. But now... He had become powerless.

It wasn't another situation from which he could crawl soaked in blood or in sarcasm. But it made all the meaningful earlier things become meaningless. It was just him and the beating of his alchemical, torn on little fragile pieces, heart and the pain in his chest and the pain in his belly and the pain in his very soul. And Jem. 

The very centre of his battered world.

The books didn't tell him that nonetheless it was the most beautiful thing he had ever felt or seen in the realms of his dreams, it was ugly. It was tiring, living in secret. He felt like his insides were burning vivid, orange flames. And his inability to share so with the world, his cowardice, making it impossible to share it with Jem, his world, made the most splendid thing his greatest punishment.

_I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,_

_in secret, between the shadow and the soul_.

He has already known for a very long time they wouldn't want him in heaven. He just didn't realize the hellish fires will begin to burn him now, while he was still walking on Earth.

"Will!" Someone snapped at him, tearing him from his thoughts. "Listen, will you? It's important. And yes, it involves you directly, so please, let me finish."

Charlotte, who has been telling the outline of the next hunt, was irritated. She wasn't feeling like explaining this another time and now she had to come back because someone hadn't had his morning coffee.

"Drevak demons. A lot of them. They have found themselves a lair in a burned down, abandoned church in west London." She stated. "They come out at night, track the first unfortunate person who had happened to come by and eat him alive. If Will hadn't seen them in action and stalked them while being on one of his wondrous, I bet, ventures, we wouldn't have known." Charlotte signed, interlinking her hands behind her back. "We can't give back the lives those people lost but let's do our absolute best to make sure there'll be no more."

Will clasped his hands. Finally, some action. A good hunt will do just about right for his entwined thoughts. He wouldn't think then. And that's good. He looked at Jem who was sitting calmly, slim, pale hands, long, graceful fingers locking a cup of tea- no sugar, no milk.

"Will, Jem, that's on you. There's no sense in sending us too. Henry will give you coordinates." She seemed tired yet determinated. Typical Charlotte mix. "Meanwhile me and Henry will take care of this werewolf business. Hopefully, thou it's a low percentage chance, he hadn't gone feral, yet and we still can help him."

"We got it, Charlotte." Jem said, nodding his head. His silver- grey hair has fallen on his handsome face. Uncommon beauty, terrifyingly piercing though his defence and leaving him breathless.

He stood up, nodding at Will too. Their quick steps parted as they went to their bedrooms. Will scanned his messy room; full of scattered clothes, weapons and books. He could do this. It wasn't like he hadn't spent most of his life next to Jem. But as those feelings have awoken inside him, it became harder and harder with every day of can't. Everything was harder. Every hour of want, of maybe, of please. The hours have become longer, the minutes lengthier, the seconds impossible to ignore. Yet he had to ignore it. He didn't give one damn it was forbidden, like he ever had, but uncertainty of readiness made him stop and made him scrutinising every move of Jem's in a miserable, with a little hope he had left, search for a clue. This fight was infeassibly needed for him. Just an occasion to clear his head and subsist.

Will grabbed his black coat, took his recently favourite seraph blade and left for Jem's room to acquire runes. He paced the short distance between their rooms, wandering down the old, dark, high ceilinged hall. He came through the strong, dark-wooded door without knocking.

Jem was without his shirt, grey pants hanging loosely on his slender hips. He turned, eyeing Will who stood and whose every word he had planned to say, withered on his tongue. His mouth has fallen a little open. He's seen Jem without clothes on numerous occasions, they were shadowhunters, they were parabatai, it was inevitable. Yet when he has met his desire for him, it transformed into something different.

Jem didn't plan for Will to see him like this. But he liked it very much, too much, considering it was his parabatai. He shouldn't. Yet he couldn't control his body's impulses. His very being's impulses. He felt like his very essence called to Will's. He couldn't resist it. It felt so natural, loving Will. It felt like taking a breath after swimming under the surface of the dark waters for too long. It felt grounding. He's accepted that he'd never be loved by him the same way. But it was better this way. Loving a dying man platonically was enough heartache. He flushed a little, light pink coming though his usual paleness.

"Will?" Jem asked raising a thin eyebrow at him, curious. It wasn't five minutes before they had parted. "What is it?

"Runes!" Will stumbled, unlike himself. "I came for runes."

"Ah, yes." Jem smiled a little. "That's what I've supposed. Although, your silence had put me off my stride."

"Why didn't you appreciate it while it lasted?" Will said, voice sarcasm thick. "Tsk, tsk. You always complain about the lack thereof. You really should learn to esteem my whole-hearted efforts to ensure I'll put you on the path to sheer happiness." He stopped and imitated being deep in thought. "Little things make us who we are, James. I, for example, am your little private angel"

_Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,_

_And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind._

Incredibly sardonic he felt now, loudly proclaiming himself an angel. Jem's angel.

"I suppose they don't accept reclamations after the trial, don't they?" Jem asked, voice calm, as always when he had to deal with Will in those particular moods. But he liked them very much, he liked conversing about little nothings in this way.

"Heavens, no. Fortunately for me. I think the great holy father up in the sky isn't very forgiving to his unsuccessful workers." Will took a serious face adoring to get to play this way with Jem. "It's bad for business, you see. Even worse than the constant headache he has to have being so close to the sun. I couldn't do that, so all the glory to him!"

"I imagine they asked." Jem didn't bother with his shirt. He opened the first drawer of his heavy old-fashioned cabinet looking for a stele. Exhaustion from the hunt wasn't good for organization and unlike himself, sometimes he had to actually look for his things.

"Of course they did. I top all the angels taking the employee of the month badge straight under their foul noses every thirty days or so. It's a natural way of things." He sat at the edge of Jem's bed trying not to think about it. About Jem's beautiful body. In a bed. Specifically, his bed. "And don't you think it is easy! Imagine being one of the poor bastards with wings being chosen as a protection for an individual like me. Utter nightmare. I don't think he'd sleep well. Or at all."

Jem chuckled softly, amused. His lips curl then in a pretty way, adorning his porcelain face. "Did you just imply I'm a bad protege?"

"By the Angel, Jem!" Will exasperated. "You're a Nephilim. I've my little angelic hands full of work watching over you. Keeping you alive and such. No big deal."

Jem finally found what he had been looking for in a third drawer and turned to Will gracefully handling a stele like a pen. He approached him still smiling, warmth in his eyes, happy to be the reason Will was in a good mood. "Let's put them to use, shall we? Your little angelic hands would be very sad if we wasted them." He understood a double meaning, but he couldn't help himself. A pathetic game of pretence it was, but he needed it. A constant feeling that Will was coming through his fingers and would finally slip and find a woman who would steal him from Jem didn't do good things to him. He had the capacity of being afraid of losing something which was never his.

"If you insist." Will proclaimed weakly, colouring slightly. His mind couldn't help but catching the insinuation. If there was any, which he doubted. He could think of many ways his hands could be of use. Trailing on Jem's lithe body, memorizing every scar and looking even whiter contrasted with runes inked black. He wondered whether the places he couldn't find an excuse to touch were covered in soft skin like the one on his hands. He thought so but once in his life the knowledge wasn't enough.

He took a stele from Jem's hand, he couldn't resist letting himself touch Jem's hardened pads with his own. Cold, they were cold. They were always cold. But they should heat more, Jem's checks were reddened from the frigity. He has to tell Thomas.

"Let's get this over with." Will stated, determinated to not get flooded by the entity Jem was for him.

He manoeuvred the tool so it sat comfortably in his hand and coated it to Jem's chest. "What first, agility or strength? I should get one first, something for decision-making, choosing is sooo hard." Will complained. "Maybe some nursery rhyme?" He contemplated. "No, a big bad Shadowhunter like you needs his strength." He closed the distance between skin and adamas and tried to concentrate burning his parabatai's skin. It wasn't easy. Standing so close to half-naked Jem meant being able to sniff his scent. He smelled sweetly from Yin Fen, but the original natural scent of his skin bore through the drug. It was overwhelming. He feared that once, maybe, please, he'd be able to touch him the way he wanted he'll faint. 

Moments like this were very intimate between them. They only emphasized how they were entwined. Friend, confidant, parabatai. Will couldn't imagine his life without Jem. He thoroughly ignored that he'll have to. Once, it will be too late.

Jem tried his best to control his beating at the fast rate heart. He feared that Will could hear so, and he'll be shocked and disgusted and disappointed and will feel sorry for him, and he'll put distance between them.

Black came where the stele has been leaving unmarked earlier canvas. He drew cautiously. Strength. Agility. Night vision. Sure-footed. Soundless. Stamina. Heightened speed.

"Thank you." Jem said. A spark in his eye. "Your turn." 

Will rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt. "I'm all yours." He said. And he was. In every meaning of those words. He felt the painful process of claiming his runes. Jem worked quickly, drawing graceful curves and sharp ends, focusing on his work. Will bowed his head when Jem finished. He didn't want to step away. Jem was intoxicating. He became overwhelmed by his scent, by the way Jem lingered too close and the way their eyes met and when they did he couldn't help but lose himself in the light silver they bore, by the steel and oceans of ashes and unshed tears. 

Jem felt the heat and a prickle of Will's intense, musk sweat. He tried very hard not to let his sight slip lower, to his full, kissable lips. Felt the almost palpable closeness between them. It was harder and harder to step away. Will surely wondered why he didn't, but he was so transfixed, so intoxicated he simply wasn't able to. He didn't know it was possible to feel so at the mercy of another person's actions but here he was. Helpless.

Will drew his hand which subconsciously came to life and wanted to close distance between their skin. He realized what he was doing and immediately put it at his side, taking a shaky step back. He couldn't feel his legs, he was unable to form words and worse, voice them.

"Wait a minute, I'm just finishing." Jem, disgusted with himself thought he somewhat scared Will. Like an animal, he behaved, pretending, playing doll house. Or was it a natural way of simply stepping away after the task was finished? Surely he didn't feel the things Jem had felt. Jem started feeling the beginnings of a headache. Sometimes, love was very tiring.

*

They walked side by side, wind blowing their coats and dividing their hair into floating strands. Will took a careful effort that he didn't brush Jem's hand by his. It'd be too much then. He didn't trust his body to react appropriately when it came to Jem. He clearly remembered his first blushing, the increasing beating of his heart, the sweating, the dizziness. His first dream in which he could almost feel how soft Jem's well guarded lips felt. Later, his dreams weren't so proper. Until Jem, he didn't even realize he liked men. Liking women was the default and thou Will didn't seek them, he liked kissing them, which happened a few times in the inn or a party. He could say whether a woman felt attractive to him. But it was shallow, animalistic, physical attraction. After he realized his feelings, it was different. Even thinking about another seemed like a betrayal, he felt dirty then, worthless. 

Will remembered vividly another type of dreams about Jem, too. He imagined Jem revealing all of his pale skin, climbing at the top of him and kissing him breathless. He pictured his wet tongue, twirling around Jem's, how Jem would bite him, drawing irony blood and licking it like it was the tastiest thing he has ever received. He imagined bonding with him on a different level. He confered that he had a fascination with blood as it was another mean to closen him and Jem until they were one, until they were indissociable, as it sometimes happened when they fought. 

He truly tried to imagine how Jem would taste. How he would feel when their bodies would lay touching by every inch. If his pubic hair would be silver too. How he would bring pleasure to him. If Jem would dominate him. Or if he would surrender instinctively. Or if Jem would let him claim his body as well as his soul. Would he lay atop of the mattress letting Will devour him, piece by piece, kissing every part of his body. He always felt dirty after dreaming about Jem in this way, without his knowledge or consent. He wondered whether it was possible Jem liked men too. If he would like Will in this way. He needed his love like he needed water but his desire would be more than welcome too. He just needed Jem. In every way.

"This is it." Jem said, aware of Will's sudden silence and melancholic mood. They stood in front of an old gothic building, battered by time and blackened by unforgiving flames. It was beautiful, in some way, Jem thought. It was dawn, the dying sun, which lurked from behind the buildings, painted him in bitter yellows and oranges.

Will caociously opened the creaking door. The dark poured from the open frame. He instantly felt the foul stench of rotting garbage. He took the light stone from his pocket and illuminated the large room. He saw the mass of maggoty-like demons crawled together, presumably sleeping. 

"It's a shame that the basic Shadowhunter kit doesn't include a dynamite." Will muttered drawing his sword. "Uriel." He whispered and it glowed claiming its name.

"Basic? Is there an exclusive one?" Jem asked, taking his blade from his black leather belt. "Micah."

"Only for the chosen. Those pricks in the Conclave don't feel like sharing with those in need."

"How selfish."

They stood in the fighting stance. Jem attached his blade to his belt and took a throwing knife. He nodded at Will who instantly knew to cover him. Will took the light away, he was so in thought he forgot he had a night vision rune on his forearm. Jem swung his arm and in a matter of a second one of the biggest demons was dead. And then the chaos began. He didn't waste time as they came into the hall, he simultaneously threw a knife after knife with a deadly precision. 

Drevaks rushed for them and when they were too close for knifes Jem again took his sword. Back to back with Will they sliced a demon after demon. Drevaks were fast. But they were fast too. Will took a poison in his arm, he cursed and cut the demon who did so. Jem bumped Will by his arm, taking an angle, so he sliced the demon jumping at Will's side. Time became one grey mass. They fought and fought and as the horde was lying on the floor vanishing slowly, they divided in search for surviving creatures. 

They wandered the dark halls. Will, ignored the excruciating pain the bite brought. He cursed foully, applying an iratze on his palm. It wasn't easy, doing so with his left hand so it came out very sloppy. But it had to do for the time being. Like a cat he stepped quietly in the darkness, tracking down the survivors. Jem found himself cornered by the three obese demons. While he had been gutting one, the second jumped on his back. He blindly slashed him leaving his chest open which the third one wanted to use and it would if Jem hadn't speared him on his throwing knife handling it in his other hand.

It wasn't a hard job. But it had to be done. They met again near the entrance and together speeded outside. The air was thick and grey and the wind was blowing sharply, cutting their bare faces. The sky was black and the clouds covered all ofl the stars.

"You're bleeding. Are you all right?" Jem asked worried, taking Will's arm between his hands.

"I have to ask you for an iratze." He said. "Look at this utter nightmare I've created over here." He presented his hand. Even this move made his arm pinch badly in pain. "Atrocious."

He took off his coat, sat on a gravestone and rolled up his sleeve. The bite looked horrendously. The skin was red and the purple veins surrendered it like a lighting. The blood which soaked his coat's arm and shirt in red, was still sipping, down, coaxing his runes and vanishing between his fingers.

Jem took his stele out of his coat's pocket and drew it immediately near the bite. Will has been feeling dizzy and nauseous. He closed his eyes, long lashes curling and ghosting over his high cheekbones. He inhaled deeply. Jem. Safe. Home.

The pain was vanishing, slowly, his arm was going numb. Better. He breathed deeply. "Thank you." He said softly and Jem felt his heart fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. He felt the tingling warmth travelling through his whole body. He smiled tenderly at Will whose sight escaped his parted lips and who tried his hardest not to blush. "Let's go." He said, standing up.

They continued walking down the lamped streets, drenched in welcoming champagne who made their eyes glisten. They looked at each other shyly, exchanging delicate smiles.

_Never close your lips to those whom you have already opened your heart._

So though Will couldn't pour his heart like he has wanted, and coax his love in the undying fire which burned in him, he smiled and hoped that maybe, please, someday, those beautiful, curling upwards now, lips, would smile wider and between the teeth of Jem's would be a glimmer hope and a promise that he was not damned to love hopelessly. And though their days together were counted, one day he could take the hand which brushed against his in his own and hold it, entwining those loved fingers between his own.

_And yet I have had the weakness, and have still the weakness, to wish you to know with what a sudden mastery you kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope it made your day warmer. It did mine, sharing this story makes my heart flutter because I love them so very much and having the ability to awaken my imagination and write about them is a true blessing.  
> I would really appreciate some feedback.


End file.
